


Five Times Flash Patched Up Spider-Man (And One Time Spider-Man Returned the Favor)

by HollowSpiritFree



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, That's it, this is my first time be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowSpiritFree/pseuds/HollowSpiritFree
Summary: AKA: What would happen if Flash found out about Peter's new night job instead of Gwen.





	1. The First Time

Flash Thompson was shocked when Puny Peter - who, now that he thought about it, really wasn’t scrawny so much as thin (he’d never used the term _lithe_ before, but with the kind of muscle Parker must be hiding under his stupid sweater vest to do what he’d done, Flash guessed it fit) since that growth spurt back in 8th grade - Parker picked him up and slammed him into his locker when he tried to talk to him the day after his uncle died. He’d noticed the purple bruises that seemed to have become a permanent (not really, by the very nature of bruises, but whatever) feature of Parker’s face, and he knew that he wasn’t the one to leave them there - It was Flash’s _dad_ who left bruises, marks like a breadcrumb trail of drunken anger and flying spittle and hot breath that smelled like whiskey. Flash’s _dad_ left bruises that ached in the sweltering, muggy heat of a summer afternoon with no breeze, _not_ Flash - so he wondered who did. Maybe it was boredom, or some sort of weird sense of justice that made him follow Parker home one Thursday after school a few days later. Except Parker didn’t go home.

  
It was difficult to keep track of Peter - he seemed paranoid, constantly looking over his shoulder like he knew Flash’s eyes were on him. Flash thought he might be trying to lose him when Parker ducked into an alley, but when the shouting started, he ran. By the time he’d made it to the entrance, though, all that was left were two guys stuck to the wall with some sort of white rope. Peter was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and turned around, ready to just head home. And the noise that came out of his mouth was totally not a squeak, shut up.

  
The vigilante, Spider-Man, hung upside down in front of him (too close!). He cocked his head, and seemed like he was about to say something, when he groaned instead, and suddenly slipped from the long string (it matched the rope that stuck the man to the wall. That had to mean something right?) right onto the ground. Flash started, dropped to his knees beside Spider-Man, stared in shock at the vigilante clutching at his own shoulder.

  
“Are you alright?” He gasped out. _Stupid_ , he thought to himself. No one gasps in pain for fun.

  
“Dislocated,” Spider-Man grunted.

  
He took in the bright costume, the man webbed to the wall. Remembered the story of Spider-Man saving a kid from a burning car, and the new report announcing the warrant for his arrest, claiming he was a criminal.

  
He didn’t look like one, now. Not where Flash was standing.

  
He looked like a _hero_.

  
“How can I help?”

  
So Flash grabbed his hand - warm through the fabric of his suit, ribbed with some sort of rubber that tugged at his skin - put his foot against Spider-Man’s ribs, where the vigilante pointed, and pulled.

  
The pop was sickening, but Spider-Man thanked him and gave him a jaunty salute before he disappeared between the skyscrapers.

  
It was only that night, after he’d gone up to his room when his dad had finally fallen asleep in front of the television with a half eaten TV dinner on his lap and four beers on the table beside him, that he wondered where Parker had managed to disappear to, in that alley where he’d met Spider-Man.


	2. The Second Time

It was night, Flash was struggling through his math homework, and he had a killer headache when there was a knock at Flash’s window. He was freaked out at first, until he realized it was Spider-Man at his window and not a murderer. (The police might think this is just as bad, he thought.) Spider-Man tapped at his window again, so he jumped up to yank it open, gaping in shock when Spider-Man fell in, leaving a bloody stain on the window sill.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped. “It’s just I didn’t - I didn’t know where to go - who to go to and I - I’m hurt, I - I didn’t - oh crap! It hurts, I…” He groaned, holding his stomach, and fell onto Flash’s bed. A nervous giggle bubbled up in Flash’s throat, which died when Spider-Man fumbled through tugging off his mask and - oh no. There was no way this was happening, there was no way  _ Peter Parker _ was laying bleeding on his bed, there was no way Peter Parker was  _ Spider-Man _ .

  
“So I know there’s some, like, Dr. Phil level revelations going on here, I get that, really, but,” he let out another pained groan. “But I could really use some  _ help  _ here!”

Flash snapped his gaping mouth shut, only to open it right back up. “What _ happened _ , Parker?!” and Peter held up his hand, finger and thumb close to each other.

 

“I may have run into a knife. A small one. Maybe.” 

 

“You were  _ stabbed _ ?!”

 

“Stabbed is a strong word.”

 

“You need a hospital!”

 

That’s when all humor - how could he be joking around at a time like this?! - drained from Parker’s face. “No hospitals,” he said flatly.

 

“No hospitals.” Flash repeated. “No hospitals. How am I supposed to help you - Christ’s sake, Parker you’ve been  _ stabbed _ !”   
  
“Flush it with water,” Parker panted, eyes shutting, and that’s when Flash noticed how pale Parker was, saw the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Stitch it up - I’ve got the stuff in my backpack.” Flash wondered how often this happened that he had such an … advanced first aid kit.

 

Flash searched through the dirty backpack below his window, finding a pink squeeze bottle labelled “Saline Solution” and a plastic bag with a spool of thread and a weird curved needle. All the while Peter whined in pain.

 

“Should I get your some tylenol or something?”

 

“No. I’ll be fine once this is stitched up.” Flash nodded quickly.

 

“So … you’re Spider-Man,” Flash said, just to say something. He pulled out the chair from his desk and sat down beside his bed, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

 

Peter laughed. “I’m Spider-Man,” he agreed.

 

“Why?”

 

He didn’t say anything, at first, so Flash squirted the water into the hole in Peter’s abdomen. When blood started to well up and drip down his side, he cussed and jumped up to grab a shirt from his closet at random to dab up the blood. (Inside, he lamented the fact that it was a white shirt, of course.)

 

Flash’s hands shook so bad that Peter (when did he start thinking of the nerd as Peter?) threaded the needle for him, still laying on his back, gaping hole in his stomach.

 

“The man who killed my uncle,” Peter began, when Flash was halfway through stitching him up. “I saw him. Before, I mean. He robbed a gas station, threw me a drink I wasn’t able to afford. I could have said something. I mean, obviously I could have stopped him. But I didn’t. And then he killed my uncle. It’s … it’s my responsibility to find him.”

 

Something in Peter’s voice stopped Flash from asking any more questions. He finished stitching up the wound, and grabbed his shirt to throw it in the hamper. When he turned around, Peter was gone.


	3. The Third Time

The next Monday, Flash found Peter at his locker between third and fourth period. His cheek was bruised, and lip lip was split. Flash wondered if his knuckles were bruised beneath the fingerless gloves he wore. His brows rose in surprise when Flash called out his name, and for the first time Flash saw his shoulders tense, and could have kicked himself. 

 

Instead he caught Peter’s arm when it looked like he was gonna try and run away, and ducked his head so that no one else could overhear. He knew to anyone else it would look like he was pulling his usual crap, and later he wondered for a moment if maybe that was for the best. But at the moment, when he had Peter’s attention, he instead whispered, “Listen, about the other night. I … It’s fine with me, if you show up to get patched up every now and then. I mean, you can’t come over when my dad is home, and if he does show up, you gotta leave. But otherwise. Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, an awkward feeling in his stomach, and turned to walk away.

“Thanks, Flash,” he heard, so quiet he could have imagined it.

 

###### 

The next time Peter showed up at his window, his jaw was a deep shade of purple and he reeked like a sewer. Flash thinks he’ll have to wash his sheets as soon as Peter slips back out his window. 

 

“What was it this time?” He asked as he pulled out his new first aid kit from under his bed.

 

“The Lizard. I was trying to get proof that he existed - y'know, for this newspaper, they were offering a reward - but, yeah, proof. He attacked me.”

 

“In the sewers?” Flash asks, because seriously.  _ The smell. _

 

“Actually, yes.”

 

Flash stares at him for a moment, before he remembered that he was supposed to be cleaning all the little cuts littering Peter’s chest, and he dropped his gaze and got back to it.

 

“The Lizard did all this? I guess I can understand the big cut, but the rest…. This looks more like glass.”

 

“There was a robbery, on the way over.” Flash had thought he knew how Peter felt about theft, but for him to drop everything, when he was already injured....

 

“Just one question, Parker. What’re you gonna to when you find this guy?”

 

Just then there was the sound of his front door creaking open, slamming shut. His dad was drunk again, then.

 

Parker made his excuses and slipped through Flash’s bedroom window just as the heavy footfalls began making their way up the stair.

 

Flash pretended he didn’t notice how Parker wouldn’t look him in the eyes.


	4. The Fourth Time

The fourth time, Flash knew he was coming. He saw it all on TV. The burning building, the crowd, the crying mom who screamed at the camera that her baby was still in the inferno.

The firemen were still three minutes out - someone, he assumed it was Peter, had left a police scanner on his window sill a few nights before - when the camera tilted precariously, just in time to get a glimpse of Spider-Man, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sky, flying through the air.

And right through the fourth floor window of the burning building. 

Really, Parker?

He waited with a tight feeling in his chest that he didn’t care to examine as the seconds ticked by. The firemen showed up, and still no sign of Spider-Man. The fire hoses were attached and turned on. The smoke darkened, until the firemen wouldn’t enter. The mom broke down into heaving sobs, crying on her knees in the street.

And then Spider-Man crawled out of the window, baby in one arm, a man thrown over his shoulder. His suit was singed, soot clinging to every inch of his being. The baby was red-faced with tears. The man was only wearing a tank top and a pair of Captain America boxers.

Flash had never seen anything more heroic.

###### 

He was already in his room, first aid kit ready, when Peter knocked at his window and let himself in. Flash could hear the wheezing from across the room, and threw a water bottle at him before he soaked a cotton ball in saline.

“Man, my suit is ruined,” Peter whined, and Flash winced in sympathy of the scratch in his voice. He collapsed on his bed, yanking off his mask and sucking down half the water bottle in two big gulps. Flash snickered. “Do you think this is a joke, Flash? Do you see these seams? This suit is, like, at least decent cosplayer level. It takes hours to make a new suit.” 

“You might try actually being careful for once, then,” Flash suggested dryly. “Although it looks like you might have been, in which case I should probably consider a low sodium diet. Y’know. For the heart attack you’ll end up giving me one of these days.” Peter tilted his head up to meet Flash’s gaze with his own questioning one. Flash waved his hands at Peter’s torso. “A couple cuts from glass - probably from that window you flung yourself into, but otherwise you’re pretty much fine.”

“Head’s killing me though,” he rasped. “You called me Peter.”

“What?”

“My name. You actually used it for once.” He finished off his water bottle. 

“Course I did. That’s what friends do,” Flash said, simply, even though simple was the last thing he felt.

He snapped his first aid kit closed, and tucked it beneath his bed, then grabbed the bloody cotton balls and headed to his bathroom to throw them away. He was surprised to see Peter still then when he returned. Even more surprised to realize he was asleep. 

Neither of them would ever bring up the fact that when Peter woke up at three in the morning it was in a pair of Flash’s pajamas, on his bed, or that Flash fell asleep in the chair by his desk, and woke up to his alarm in his own bed, with Peter nowhere to be seen. 

If the next time Peter stopped by for help, Flash told him he could use him as an alibi, well then. That was just between them.


	5. The Fifth Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised this has already gotten attention! Thank you all, and remember: comments and kudos feed a writer's soul!

###### 

On the night that Spider-Man took down The Lizard, Flash’s police scanner went crazy. 

 

It was usually a source of white noise, comforting as long as Spider-Man was only mentioned in passing. But on that night, Flash couldn’t tear his gaze away from the TV, showing helicopter footage of Spider-Man racing across the city, could barely focus past the crackle of police codes and news reporters enough to keep track of the injuries that Peter sustained. He cringed when Peter was shot as if the bullet went into his own leg.

 

The smell of alcohol was the only warning he had. His father threw himself down onto the couch, uncomfortably close, but Flash knew better than to flinch. “Total garbage,” his father growled. “These freaks, destroying our city. Not just that big green one, he’s bad enough. But this Spider-Man.” He shook his head in disgust, and Flash felt a weight settle like lead in his stomach. “He’s the worst one out there.”

 

“Some people say he’s doing a public service, stopping crime. Practically a hero.” He knew, even before he’d finished, that he’d made a mistake. Flash’s dad had once been a police officer. He had strong feelings on the matter, and the instant the words slipped out, Flash knew he’d stepped right in them. 

 

“ _ Eugene _ ,” his dad said, oily slick. “Don’t tell me I got a freak lover for a kid. I won’t tolerate anyone under my roof going soft on these  _ criminals _ .” 

 

Flash swallowed hard. His hands balled up into fists. Images swirled in his head, of Peter, and his suit, of bruises on his jaw, of bloody knuckles hidden beneath fingerless gloves, of split lips and cheeks covered in soot. Peter defended the people of New York with all the conviction that Flash had never been able to hold. Maybe he could learn something. Maybe he couldn’t stop Peter from getting beaten up at night, but he could defend him still. He could defend him right now, to Flash’s drunken jerk of a dad.

 

So he tilted his chin up, and he said, “I think Spider-Man’s a hero.”

 

And he didn’t back down when the fist came flying his way.

<h6></h6>

Peter didn’t comment on the way Flash moved slower than usual, and Flash wondered if that meant he was getting better at acting like everything was ok, or if Peter was just that out of it. He slowly sat down in the chair, and Flash kneeled in front of him with his first aid kit. He was quiet, for once. It was almost frightening, how much he had come to expect, to depend on, Peter’s chatter.

 

He irrigated the bullet hole in Peter’s thigh and stitched it up in silence. He actually startled when Peter spoke up while he rubbed aloe into the small burns on Peter’s chest where he had been tased. “That hurt worse than getting shot.” 

 

“Really?” Flash asked, and he tried to act like it was just out of curiosity, and not that he was compelled to by the way his chest felt light when Peter finally spoke, as if just because Peter was speaking it meant that he was ok.

 

“Neither hurt as bad as watching Gwen’s dad die, though.”

 

Oh.  _ Oh _ . “Peter, that  _ wasn’t your fault. _ ” He needed Peter to understand that. He needed Peter to be safe and happy. 

 

Peter looked unconvinced, but he didn’t say anything, so Flash considered that a win. He grabbed a cloth, which he dampened with saline, and felt a calm warmth settle over him while he cleaned the scratches on Peter’s cheeks. He didn’t know when exactly he’d come to enjoy taking care of Peter, but it had happened and Flash accepted it as part of his life.

 

“He - he made me promise to stay away from Gwen. Said the city needed - said that the city needed me, but that people would get hurt. The people I’m closest to.” Flash glanced up at Peter, but his eyes were screwed shut, and from the twitches in his hands, Flash would bet money that if he weren’t holding them still, they would be balled up into tight fists. (Flash absolutely didn’t dwell on the fact that these hands were each strong enough to hold a car, yet felt gentle in his grasp.)

 

“That’s probably true,” he admitted, and knew that it wasn’t what Peter wanted to hear, but. “You’re out there stopping people who would hurt others for their own gain. Speaking from experience, it’ll piss a few people off.”

 

“Language,” Peter chided gently. “You’re not a bad guy, you know.”   
  
“Coulda fooled me. Or probably you, ‘til a few months ago. Here’s the thing. We already care about you, no matter what you choose. But what happens next time there are monsters rampaging through Brooklyn if Spider-Man retires? What happens to the people Spider-Man has influenced to become better people?”  _ People like me, _ he thought, but didn’t say.

 

“I guess Spider-Man is here to stay, then,” and there was that hint of a joking tone in Peter’s voice, that shot like cool relief through Flash. “And he’s got somewhere to be right now,” Peter added more seriously. He grabbed the mask from Flash’s desk, and yanked it on over his head.

  
“Yeah?”

 

“These past few months, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with how someone moves when they’re trying to hide bruises and possibly broken ribs. What happened?”

 

Flash busied himself with packing the first aid kit up. “I dunno what you’re talking about, man.” 

“Flash. Don’t lie to me. Was it someone close to you?” He felt the strange warmth of Peter’s presence behind him, before a hand rested softly on his shoulder. Flash felt a lot like that time in first grade when he swallowed a rock on a dare, before he had to have his stomach pumped. He didn’t say anything. Peter’s hand tightened, in concern, Flash thought, and for a heady moment, Flash marveled at the way it felt so different from when his dad grabbed him.

 

“Flash, was it … was it your dad?”

 

His hands tightened. He hesitated, and then.

 

He nodded.

 

The hand left his shoulder, and he tried not to think about how cold he felt once it did. He ignored the faint sound of a thud and muffled shouting, and only moved when the hand finally returned, only for another to slide over his cheeks. That was when he finally realized he’d been crying.

 

“Thank you for telling me. The police will be here soon. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

 

Spider-Man was gone by the time the police showed up, but Peter Parker was sitting on the porch beside him.


	6. And One Time Peter Healed Flash

The day started like any other since his father’s arrest. He woke up in his new bedroom at 6:00 on the dot before ducking into the bathroom. He pounded on the door across from his own until he heard the startled squawk that meant the room’s inhabitant had fallen out of bed before he hurried down the stairs, laughing.

 

He helped make breakfast with a smile, and grinned at the warm feeling that settled around him everytime he was in the presence of his new family. Peter slowly shovelled in his omelet, face drooping to barely a few inches above the plate. Aunt May ran her hands through his hair, fluffing up the already awful rat’s nest, and rubbed Flash’s shoulder as she passed.

 

Peter waited at the door for him, both their backpacks thrown over his shoulders, and he handed one off cheerfully enough, but still grumbled when he walked outside into the sunlight. Flash snickered. “Maybe if you got to bed at a decent time,” he teased, and Peter smiled even though they both knew that wouldn’t happen.

 

Peter still ran after the bus, even though he almost never caught it. Now that Flash knew Peter’s secret, he couldn’t help but laugh every time he watched it happen. They walked to school in amicable silence.

###### 

It was nice having real friends, Flash decided. Peter was quietly cheerful when he was dressed up like a normal person, and Mary Jane balanced that out nicely with her loud and exuberant personality. (She had loudly protested the first time he sat down beside Peter at lunch, and he hadn’t known how to tell her things had changed between him and Peter.) He wouldn’t be surprised to one day soon be helping Peter get ready for their first date. He sometimes saw Gwen Stacy watching them with something painful in her eyes, and Flash felt for her, he really did. But he also had to admit to himself he was glad Peter had mostly moved on within the parameters he’d set for himself.

 

When Harry Osborn moved to Queens, Flash wasn’t surprised that Peter was his first friend, and honestly, it was nice to have someone else to commiserate with over the difficulties of trig while everyone around them was some sort of freaking genius.

 

It was obvious that things had changed between Peter Parker and Flash Thompson, and Flash should have known that in the animal kingdom of high school, eventually someone would see it as a weakness.

 

It was unfortunate that the first one to try something was Alex Beckner, because Flash had almost liked him, before Peter climbed through his window with a hole in his gut.

 

“Got a new girlfriend, Flash? Didn’t know you swung that way, but then again I guess if you hit it from behind it’s basically the same, huh?” 

 

“I’m sorry, were you trying to say something, Alex? I couldn’t hear you through the blood in your mouth,” Flash snarled, and he’d seen videos of Spider-Man fighting. He knew the only reason he managed to cross that room and introduce his fist to Alex’s face at all was because he’d caught Peter off guard. “I get that you’re not as smart as Pete, but you should know better than to try and eat your own teeth,” he snarled, and quickly turned Peter around, leading him out by his shoulder before a full on fight could break out.

 

He’d hate for Spider-Man to be outed because of a schoolyard brawl.

 

They were silent for the first few minutes of the walk to the bus, and then, with a cheeky grin, Peter grabbed Flash’s hand - the one he’d slammed into Alex’s face. He ran his thumb over Flash’s knuckles, and then, snickering, he pressed a feather-light kiss to them. “My hero,” he teased.

 

The bus pulled up a moment later. “Those were some good lines, by the way. I usually don’t punch people unless they’re, like, an actual Super-villain, but if I do, I might use something like that.” And Flash will admit a little bit of pride in that.

 

He was definitely not the reason Spider-Man snarks, “For a smart guy, you’d think you’d know better than to eat your teeth,” when he punches Iron Man in the face a few weeks later, though.

 

Definitely not.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is very welcome!


End file.
